


dance the tide

by queenundisputed



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenundisputed/pseuds/queenundisputed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All magic comes with a price: his sleep, her sanity. If solving their little magical link problem means she has to spend some quality time with her least favorite pirate captain then so be it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Low Tide

**Author's Note:**

> First piece of fanfiction in years. This pairing...what has it done to me?
> 
> Written before 'Welcome to Storybrooke' aired so for safety's sake, we'll call this canon up to 'The Miller's Daughter' and no further.

It sounds like bells, really, or that's how she will remember it when she thinks back on it later. She’s asleep, in the middle of a dream that fades as soon as she opens her eyes. Her heart beats fast with a sense of urgency. It takes her a moment to sort out her thoughts. Where had the sound come from? It echoes around her brain like a bad song on repeat. It reminds her of...

A doorbell. Oh.

Sitting up in bed, she reaches out to feel and trace with ghostly fingers the trail of magic that leads from her bedroom all the way across Storybrooke to the town line. And standing at the town line--

He’d been at the back of her mind since they’d last parted ways. Even with Neal, Cora, and the town falling under scrutiny from the outside world, she’d still thought of him.

It’s only the product of a guilty conscience. She’d left him alone in a world that he was unfamiliar with, injured, and she’d taken his ship away. Necessary evils, the entire list, but it didn’t feel very heroic. It didn’t feel like something that would make her son proud no matter where Hook’s alliances were or what he’d done.

So her shoulders relax when the certainty of what has brought her awake settles in--she doesn’t even question how she knows it’s him; magic is an easy answer--and she doesn’t hesitate to grab her keys and walk out into the rainy night.

He doesn’t look surprised to see her when she steps outside of her car and joins him; she on her side of the town line and him on the other.

“This your work, love?” he asks.

“We needed something to keep unwanted visitors out.” she says, shifting from one foot to the other. Magic--her magic--is still new and strange to her. She’s not sure she wants to discuss it, not with him. Not with anyone.

There’s a lull in conversation, not something that feels familiar when it comes to him.

“You look like hell.” she says.

It’s true. He’s soaked, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes heavy. When did he sleep last? The clothes he’s wearing don’t fit properly; too big there and too small elsewhere. They’re from this world, she realizes quite suddenly, and that makes her feel much worse than anything else, strangely.

He doesn’t reply, and if she can’t bait him, she’s not sure how to talk to him. She focuses on the hum of the magic barrier between them instead, softens it so he can walk through and returns it to a solid and impenetrable force once he’s standing on her side. 

“If you don’t have any plans to kill anyone, I can drive you to your ship.” Her voice is quiet and barely audible over the rain that starts falling quicker and heavier now.

He’s still silent--though she could just make out the start of surprise when she mentions his ship; did he think they had destroyed it?--and he’s staring her down. It’s a challenge, she realizes. It’s her move.

“I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you want. You can’t go around trying to murder people here. It doesn’t work like that.”

She thinks it comes out strong, sure, but even so, she doesn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. Nothing in Storybrooke is as black and white as that. If it were, her own mother would be in jail.

“Something’s happened to shake those pretty little morals of yours, Swan.”

Apparently he could hear how hollow her words rang as well.

“Just get in the car, Hook. It’s late. It’s raining. I just want to go home to my son and my bed.” When backed into a corner, change the subject. Feign annoyance. At this, she was an expert.

“I’ll walk. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any further, princess.” He bows, every inch of him mocking her.

“Fine. Have it your way.” She pulls open the car door with more force than strictly necessary. She can’t bring herself to move any further. “Just get in the car, please.”

The please slips out without permission. It sounds desperate and vulnerable. She regrets it the moment it passes her lips, but the plea seems to please him.

“Why, princess, that sounds just a little like guilt to me.” He’s grinning as he opens the passenger side door, and this is the Hook she remembers.

Inside the car, she pauses again. The smaller space seems to crush the weight of her guilt down upon her, and she knows that she’s going to apologize in spite of her earlier claims.

“We shouldn’t have left you there, alone.” She doesn’t add the ‘I know what it feels like, and it sucks.’; wants it to go unspoken because saying it is admitting a little too much. She turns to look at him and hopes that will be enough. It’s his raised eyebrow, like he doesn’t quite believe her, that loosens her tongue, makes her earnest.

“ _I_ shouldn’t have left you there, alright? Not like that. I have no idea how you even made it back.”

“You didn’t leave me, Emma. Not entirely. Not this time.” She sees her own vulnerability mirrored in him now, and she shifts in her seat, suddenly too warm and too close.

“Let me guess: I’m always in your heart?” She rolls her eyes and inwardly cheers at how unaffected and even her voice sounds as she tries to distance them from whatever emotionally compromising direction the conversation is trying to take with levity.

He laughs. “My material is much better than that. Less metaphor and more hands on.”

He holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers at her.

It’s a terrible attempt at a line, really, but she’s amused anyway. Falling back into their routine is comforting.

“Wow, you must have been a real ladies man. With lines like that, who could resist?”

“Not a single woman I’ve set my eyes on thus far.”

“And yet here we are.”

“It’s only a matter of time, love, I promise you that.” It's the easiest way to continue the joke, she knows, but there's something about his tone that makes her fists clench. His determination is real and solid between them so she tries to brush it away. Turning the ignition and listening to her little yellow bug come alive is the best distraction she can muster. It drowns out just how interested she is in where that promise might lead.

“I just knew where you were. Where you are.” he says, coming to the point. “Just as sure as I know the stars in the sky and the planks of my ship.”

It sounds ridiculous. It’s not even possible, not outside Storybrooke anyway. She tells him as much.

“Think what you like, love, but your magic brought me right back to you. It’s been a constant thorn in my side, a head full of you. Couldn’t sleep, needed to move, to find you.” He’s just as uncomfortable saying it as she is hearing it. He doesn’t even look at her.

A shiver runs through her, and she turns up the heat to cut the chill; the weather a more convenient scapegoat for her goosebumps than the notion that his words may have caused her reaction.

“I didn’t mean to do it.” She protests, not wanting to own such an intimate connection with him.

“Aye, you meant to leave me for dead.” he spits right back at her.

“I didn’t mean to do that either!” She suddenly throws the car into motion, turning it back toward town. It’s her way of running, but it isn’t enough. She has to slow down, anyway, for the fear of skidding across the slick pavement, and the flashes of the last time she had been on this road with him in the rain, the dark, and the worry that maybe he was dead this time make her cautious even in her need to get far, far away.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He taps his hook against his leg, and she regrets running off without telling anyone--her _parents_ , possibly, and that’s still a strange and oddly hilarious notion--that she’d gone out.

Her discomfort reaches him, and she’s both relieved when he stops and at the evidence that he’s just as aware of her right now as she is of him. “You’ve nothing to worry about, killing you isn’t worth my time.”

It sounds a great deal like when he said he was done with her.

“I should just shoot you.” She mutters.

“Oh ho! So you do want me dead then. Interesting.” His grin is back, and Emma decides she’s too tired for whatever game he’s playing with her now.

Bringing the car to an idle stop not halfway to the docks, she turns to face him.

“Listen, I’m not interested in killing you either. This world shouldn’t work like that. And as long as you obey the law--no killing, no stealing--I won’t lock you up again either. You manage that, and you leave my family alone, and we’ll be just fine. Are we clear?” She glares at him, daring him to press his luck any further.

“Oh, crystal clear, princess.” He smiles benignly, and she knows it’s the best she’s going to get because no matter how many times he says they’re done, no matter how many times she thinks she’ll never see him again, they keep finding each other again and again.


	2. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the new episode--which I haven't seen--have a new chapter!

She doesn’t see him again for a few days. The lack of his presence bothers her more than she wants to admit. But she has a son, and parents, and her son’s father and his fiancee, and an entire town of displaced fairy tale characters to contend with. He is a bittersweet afterthought.

He appears again at Granny’s, roguish grin and pirate leather back in place. She can feel the lack of sleep radiating off of him even if Ruby, who is serving him with a flirty smile--a tendency Emma has yet to pinpoint as a feature of Red or of the Ruby she knows--doesn’t see it at all.

“Still not sleeping?” She sounds neutral, but asking indicates some level of caring, a certain intimacy. Still she knows she owes him for her abandonment. A little check in is the least she can do.

“Not without you, it seems.” He shrugs, and when he tips his head to look at the floor--instead of her, she notes--she sees the dark circles under his eyes more prominently.

“I could try and fix it?” She replies.

“Don’t think I want you messing about with my head again, love. No offense.” There’s a smile but also something hidden that she can’t quite wrap her head around.

But she does understand. She wouldn’t want to mess with her own head with new and inexperienced magic either. Still, she wonders why he wouldn’t, at least, want her to try if only so he can be free of her.

“What, you don’t trust me?” It’s a joke--the same old song and dance--but with the edge of past conversations not yet finished giving it an edge.

“Well, pretty sure your last encounter with my head left a few scars.” His hand moves to gingerly pat the back of his head.

Large, heavy object to the back of the head. Right.

And he can’t sleep because she’s cursed him or something. She doesn’t even know.

Real bang up job, Swan.

“There must be something we can do to fix it. I don’t really want to be the one responsible for your mental breakdown due to exhaustion.”

He smirks at her. “A man does prefer his lady in the flesh.”

She rolls her eyes by way of reply, but the tease is the catalyst for a series of thoughts that whirl about in quick succession and have her blurting out a solution without really stopping to think about just what it is she’s saying.

“Maybe that would help, actually. I mean, whatever I did more or less forced you to find me, right? So what if being around me is the solution? I need to keep an eye on you anyway.”

He hides his surprise well, but he does tense up, shoulders thrown back just a tiny bit further than before she’d spoken as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. She can’t believe it either. Something about it sounds strangely right though, like it makes perfect sense. Clearly her magic has a mind of its own.

“If you want to warm my bed, love, I’m not going to stop you.”

She glares at him. “That is _not_ what I meant.”

“Really? That’s what I heard.” He wiggles both eyebrows at her.

“I’m not going to sleep with you, Hook. I was thinking something like...” What was she thinking? Ruby passes into her line of sight with a plate of food and thank god for that. “Lunch! We'll have lunch together. See if that helps, okay?”

And then she’ll have done right by him and they can go their separate ways. Minus chains this time, she hopes.

He taps his hook on the counter top like he’s pondering whether or not to accept her offer. She tries to act like it doesn’t matter if he rejects her--because it doesn’t except guilt has been keeping her up too--and she leans against the same countertop, reaching out for a packet of sugar to fiddle with, keeping her hands busy so she doesn’t stare him down, desperate and wanting. The tapping stops.

“As you wish then. Even pirates have to eat after all.” He says finally.

“Great! We can--” She stops there with a curse. She’s forgotten her plans to eat at the station. She has a great deal of work to catch up on, and she’s wasted enough time talking to him as it is. She thought lunch in a crowded, public area was a good idea. Lunch with only him as a companion? Not so much. She realizes she has no choice. They already have an agreement. She sighs, defeated.

“We’ll have to eat at the station. I’ve got work to do.” She signals Ruby over.

\---

She feels awkward like the room isn’t big enough and her clothes, usually comfortable, are suddenly too tight so she uses clearing her desk to make room for the food as a distraction. He ignores the food in favor of poking around the office and asking way too many questions about inane things like file cabinets. He’s worse than Henry. At least Henry’s questions had alway been interesting.

“Would you sit down?” She snaps.

“Making you nervous, love?” She doesn’t even have time to get properly irritated over his smirk. He does not make her nervous--except he _does_ , that’s the worst part--and she’s going to prove it. She places her meal in front of her, shuffles a few files around, and proceeds to eat and work. And ignore him. Pointedly and with flair.

He sits down in front of her. “You aren’t much for conversation with your food are you?”

She takes a bite, looking him in the eye as she does so. In silence, her slow chewing sounds incredibly loud. She swallows, very aware of the fact that he hasn’t taken his eyes off of her once since he sat down. She tries to keep her focus on the paperwork in front of her, but the words keep swimming, darting away every time she attempt to catch one, making it impossible to read anything properly.

She sighs and gives up. His face is lit up with victory, and she wonders how long he’s had the expression in place, if he'd known she would break all along.

“How did you manage to get back to Storybrooke anyway?” She’s been curious after all.

“I’m resourceful, adaptable, and charming.” He says, swinging his feet up to rest on the desk. She glares at them for a moment before deciding she doesn’t care. She does it all the time.

“That’s not really an answer.” She points out, popping a french fry into her mouth.

“I couldn’t say. It’s a bit of a blur. I would have crawled on hands and bloodied knees straight to your doorstep. It didn’t matter how.”

She swallows, the claustrophobic feeling from before doubling in its intensity. Her throat feels dry, and the only water in sight in the sea she is drowning in: his eyes. The moment is drawn out, time out of time. Like they could sit like this forever. That is what breaks her out of the moment he has her trapped in, and she flounders, trying to think of the best way to prevent herself from moving any farther in the direction he’s leading her.

“I have paperwork to do.” She winces, knowing that it’s the wrong thing to say, but relief floods through her anyway because at least he has stopped looking at her like _that_.

“Don’t let me stop you.” He puts the entire room between them, striding over to the only cell in the station. He opens the door with a speculative look, and walks in, leaving it hanging open behind him. She watches him, perplexed, as he makes himself comfortable on the little bed inside the cell. He’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling, or he would be staring at it if his eyes hadn’t drifted closed.

He’s exhausted, she remembers, and this is why he was here anyway. She was providing relief for whatever magic spell she’s cast over him. It is necessity, not trust, that has compelled him to fall asleep in her presence.

She feels strangely disappointed.

\---

He is on the edges of her awareness, comforting and easy like he is meant to be there. She barely notices as time slips by; the chime that indicates it is finally five o’clock comes as a shock, startling her out of reverie. It doesn’t rouse him, however, and as loathe as she is to wake up a man sleeping like the dead, she knows he can’t stay. She creeps over, touching him gently on the shoulder. He moves like lightning, grabbing her wrist, and when his eyes snap open, she knows he’s feeling that moment of disorientation that comes with waking up suddenly in a place you don’t quite recall being in when you fell asleep.

“Hey,” she says. “Time to get up. You can’t stay here.”

He lets her hand go, body relaxing. He makes no move to stand, but she backs away, not sure she wants to stay close.

“Best sleep I’ve had in ages.” He comments. “Not a bad plan you’ve come up with, Swan.”

“Oh.” She says. “Good.”

“Tomorrow night then?” he suggests, swinging himself up and off the cot with ease. With him standing in front of her, she forgets for a moment what he’s talking about; she narrows her eyes.

He thwarts her attempt to scold him, his tone pacifying. “I thought we could try dinner, love; not everything is an invitation, you know.”

“Seems safer to assume that it is, with you.” She replies, heading out of the cell and grabbing her jacket. He laughs softly, and she hears him shut the cell door behind her.

They part ways outside of the sheriff’s office, and she calls out to him as he makes his way to the docks.

“Dinner tomorrow!”

He waves his hook in ascent, but she’s not ready to see the last of him just yet.

“Do you even know where I live, Hook?”

He whirls around, his jacket sweeping out behind him. It’s all terribly dramatic, and her heart speeds up just a little. “Don’t worry, Swan. I’ll find you.”

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.” She murmurs watching him walk away without interruption this time. Still, a strange sort of floating feeling carries her home.


	3. Bottomless

Emma isn’t nervous, really. She’s been pacing for the past hour or so, as far away from her mother and her son as possible, but she is most certainly not nervous. She finally joins her family in the common room a little before six, playing with the sleeve of her jacket and occasionally running her fingers through her hair. She makes an effort to keep her hands still when she remembers that she’s curled her hair in a vain attempt to feel pretty, or possibly to rile up her dinner date; not that she plans on admitting that if she’s questioned.

Henry is doing his homework at the counter, papers spread out all around him, and Emma can see the outlines of doodling where he should be solving math problems. They both need a distraction, it seems, and she is more than thrilled to provide one.

“What’re you going to do tonight, kid?” she asks him, leaning against the counter to his left.

“Dad said I could call.” Henry’s eye light up, and Emma tries not to flinch at the mention of her ex. She has accepted him for Henry’s sake, but she hasn’t forgiven him.

“That’s...great. Really great. I hope you have fun.” she replies, forcing a smile on her face as she ruffles Henry’s hair.

“Yeah!” Henry’s grin is a lot less forced than her’s when he continues: “You could be there too if you wanted to.”

Suddenly Emma is entirely too grateful that she’s somehow cursed Captain Hook because there’s no way she would have been able to resist Henry’s enthusiasm at the thought of his whole family reunited if she didn’t have a legitimate excuse. “I would if I could, kid, but I’ve got plans of my own tonight.”

Mary Margaret--Emma will never get used to the fact that she’s actually Snow White; _never_ \--looks up from her magazine at this pronouncement. Emma gets the feeling that she’s been eavesdropping the whole time, and she wishes, briefly, that David was back from patrolling to stem the flow of Mary Margaret's attention.

“Oh really?” Mary Margaret says. “What are these mystery plans?”

“Dinner with, uh...” Emma flounders a little before rallying her courage. “With Hook. It’s just a temporary fix for whatever magic thing I did to him. Until I can convince him it is safe to let me try and fix it.”

Both her mother and her son are giving her a look; the one that means they don’t entirely believe her and she’s not getting off so easily.

Emma shrugs at them, and then makes her way to the door before either of them have a chance to question her further.

“Have fun tonight!” she calls over her shoulder.

“Yeah, you too.” Mary Margaret calls back as Emma closes the door.

“Not likely.” she murmurs to herself before noticing that she’s not actually alone in the hallway.

“I’ll have you know that I am a great deal of fun, love.” Hook is already grinning, and he puts his hook over his heart in a show of mock sincerity. “If you’d only give me a chance.”

\---

She does, in fact, give him that chance. Sitting through dinner and drinks in awkward silence is not her idea of a good time at all, and conversation flows easily when she allows it to do so. They make a mutual decision to allow dinner to segue into drinking, and alcohol helps loosen her tongue; she isn’t so far gone that she’s said anything that she will regret in the morning, but she thanks the liquid courage for allowing her to broach certain topics she would have shied away from otherwise.

“So I guess we aren’t done after all.” she says as she places her drink on the table and, leaning back in the booth, looks at him expectantly.

“Did you ever think that we were, love?” He replies, that damnable eyebrow arching upwards and challenging her.

“You were the one who made the grand speech, Hook. You tell me.” She throws the ball back into his court and hopes for the best. How much of his attention is a continuation, and how much of it is magically forced? As comfortable as she allows herself to feel sitting across from him in the moment, the question lingers and creates in her a reluctance that is responsible for keeping the conversation light and impersonal thus far.

He is not quick to answer this time, and as he finds his glass particular interesting, she grows impatient.

“Look at you. You’re afraid to talk, to reveal yourself to me.” She spits his own words back at him, the memory of him on the bean stalk interrogating her about love is still vivid in her mind.

He sighs and looks at her with the same expression, the same piercing gaze that she knows is only associated with truths that hurt him. “We’ll never be done, Swan. We’re entangled now, and I’m all knotted up in you.”

The declaration leaves her breathless and dry mouthed. Only Herculean effort keeps her drink from her lips. She takes a moment or two to collect herself before rushing her words out:

“Right, well, as soon as we figure out a way to undo whatever I’ve done to you, that will all be over.” she says, the skill of forming words and sounds returning to her.

He does not seem disappointed in how she responds.

“We’ll see, Swan.” he says, the words rolling off his tongue--and she’s jealous, really, of how easily this all is for him; the talking and the wanting not leaving him awkward and adrift like it leaves her.

Knowing that she does not have the courage to keep asking, to keep pushing, she turns the conversation back to more neutral ground. She plans to finish the evening with some semblance of dignity after all. 

\---

The sun has long since set, and a chill sets in as they both leave the diner. Emma pulls her coat closer around her, and for one absurd moment, she thinks about what it would be like if he offered her his coat. She ducks her head to hide the smile that forms. No, the action does not seem as though it would suit him.

His back is to the glowing light that shines out of the diner’s windows, and with his face shrouded in darkness as it is, she can no longer see the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of exhaustion he has been hiding from her all night. He has done a good job, she thinks, but she knows that sending him back to his ship in his condition would be cruel. Staying with him during the day helps in a small way, but what he really needs is her presence at night. Despite the glimmer of worry about how Henry might react and the knowledge that the loft is most certainly overcrowded already, she offers him the use of the couch for the night.

Almost as though he can see the reluctance in her eyes, he says, “No need to inconvenience yourself on my account, darling. I can sleep on my ship just as well as anywhere else.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You honestly expect me to believe that you’re going to get any sleep at all without me around?”

“No, I won’t sleep at all.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, but she’s not sure if it’s a sign that he’s defensive or not. She can’t even see his eyes because his head has fallen forward. She rocks back on her heels, and spends a second or two trying to figure out what to say before taking the tried and true route of simply plowing on without hesitation.

“That settles it then. It’s the couch for you, buddy. Let’s go.” It is business like and unconcerned the way she nods her head decisively and turns on booted heel, seemingly certain that he will follow without question. But her heart is racing, and she can feel heat rising on her cheeks.

She hears him sigh as he follows her, and the spring in her step, she reasons, is not triumph but simply the need to hurry home.

\---

She is up far too early the next morning, light only just peaking over the horizon. Her sleep had been uneasy. Having Hook so close was more disturbing than she had anticipated.

She stares at him as he sleeps, and she’s quiet as she sips her coffee even though she knows that noise won’t wake him; he’s too deeply asleep, making up for the deficit he’s carrying around on her account. She gets caught up in the lines of his face, the even rhythm of his breath, and she doesn’t hear Henry until he is standing right next to her.

“Why is he on our couch?” he asks.

Emma refrains from laughing out loud. David, rising early to answer a distress call by way of the Sheriff’s office, had asked much the same question right down to the slightly suspicious, petulant tone before he had rushed out the door. He had levelled her with a backwards glance that had promised an interrogation of her motives upon his return, but Emma knew there would be no such reprieve with Henry.

She remembers her promise never to lie to Henry so she does her best to be frank with him as she answers. “Because my magic has hurt him, and he needs to stay close by until I can figure out a way to fix it.”

Henry stops staring at their house guest in favoring of looking up at her. “So is he on our side?”

Emma opens her mouth to answer, but Hook interrupts her; apparently he hadn’t been quite as deeply asleep as she had thought.

“I’m on my own side. It just so happens that your side benefits mine.”

Henry frowns at the pirate captain. “How do we know you won’t kill all of us?”

Even Emma finds herself grappling with astonishment at Henry’s question. Finding Hook’s gaze, she sees that he is having much of the same problem.

“Hook knows that if he tries, I’ll do something terrible to him.” Emma decides on finally, and when Hook arches an eyebrow at her, she shrugs. She means it, but she is also very certain that, villain or not, Hook has no intention of harming her or her kid. Henry seems to be convinced as well because, ever curious, he hops up onto the couch next to the infamous Captain Hook and begins to question him thoroughly about Neverland and Peter Pan.

Seeing how easily the pirate capitulates to the will of her son, Emma feels safe enough to leave them alone for the moment. She has work, and her hair is a mess. The sound of Henry’s laughter and the lilt of Hook’s accent follow her upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block hit me because I wanted to include Neal. Long story short, Neal got cut. Breaks my heart, it does. I want to try and finish this thing before we come back from hiatus though; so cross your fingers for quick updates coming your way!


	4. High Tide

She chooses not to acknowledge how easily he slips into her routine. He’s there almost every day: popping up at the Sheriff’s station for a nap or at the loft where he watches movies with Henry in the evening.

David is the lone hold out, and he sits down across from Hook with his hand on his gun, a silent threat to accompany his verbal one.

“Magic is too unpredictable. There’s no telling what might happen to me if I harm a single hair on Miss Swan’s pretty head.” Hook says, rakish grin in place and completely ignoring the gun.

“That’s not really reassuring.” David says, getting up and joining his laughing wife in the kitchen.

With that, all doubt is laid to rest, and there are no further roadblocks in the transition from life before Hook to life with Hook.

\---

Perhaps it’s the familiarity of him that has grown over the past few days with him as a constant presence in her life or perhaps it is the warmth of the sun that has been all too rare in Maine of late that has eased them into an easy lethargy. Spread out with a picnic on the deck of the Jolly Roger, her walls are less rigid, and when she laughs, it’s freer; when he smiles at her, she smiles back unworried of what it might mean and what he might take from her if he tried. It’s almost romantic.

It is from within a comfortable lull in the conversation that bridges between one story and the next that danger lurks. Emma doesn’t notice it until it pounces on her, and by then it is too late to escape.

“It is a kind of compulsion, it is.” Killian--and today he feels like Killian and not Hook--begins, and at her perplexed head tilt, he elaborates, “What you’ve done to me, love.”

The sun’s warmth leeches away all at once. She had forgotten for just a little while why they were sitting together. It is not the easy choice of friends or something more. Jovial though the company may have been, it is only a masquerade. Reality, she remembers, comes with such a bitter after taste when it follows what could have been such a lovely dream.

“I spoke to your Queen about its nature, and--”

Her head snaps up and her eyes narrow. “You went to _Regina_ about this?”

The words barely hiss between her teeth, and she doesn’t even stop to protest the idea that Regina is her queen of anything. It’s bad enough that her mother and father know about her little magical mishap, but now the evil queen knows too? Emma is surprised she hasn’t fielded any patronizing phone calls about her lack of parenting skills for letting Henry near someone like Hook yet. She can only imagine the lecture she’ll have to endure for this.

“Ah, she informed me you would be a trifle unhappy, but some things must be suffered, darling. Who else was I to turn to, after all?” Putting his hook over his heart, he lets out a long suffering sigh.

She runs her finger nails over the wooden planks of the ship, unwilling to meet his eyes. He is right, and that only irritates her further. Of all the magic users in Storybrooke--and there are surprisingly few--Regina is the only one they both, well, trust is too strong a word, but...

Regina is the only one they can ask; that’s all there is to it.

Putting her irritation and shame aside, she asks, “What did she say exactly?”

“Compulsion. I’m sure you’ve heard the term before, love.” She thinks about smacking him for his tone. It’s almost nasty coupled with his condescending sneer.

“You’ve made me your slave.” He continues, same nasty undercurrent to his words. “I am bound to you, body and soul, Emma Swan.”

There’s a pause where she doesn’t breathe but waits for him to fill the space with the word ‘forever’; he doesn’t. She exhales a heartbeat later, and words follow.

“Did...did she have any idea how to fix it?”

He kills her hope immediately and ruthlessly. “No.”

The wind picks up, and the ship creaks beneath them as it is rocked by the water’s movement. She dares to look up at him. He’s no longer sneering, but his gaze is out over the water and far from her.

“We’ll find a way.” She swears, her hand reaching out for him but not quite finding its way.

He turns his head, and she drops her hand, swept up in the profound mix of emotions she sees swirling behind his eyes. It’s a storm, and the electricity of it ensnares her.

“I believe you.” He says, but what she hears is “I trust you”.

She doesn’t know how she hadn’t noticed before, but he is incredibly close. Her breath is coming in shallow gasps, and she feels like she’s been running though she hasn't moved an inch. Not once does she think about moving away from him.

Instead, he chooses to break away, and he takes all her breath with him when he does.

She takes a moment to remember how to breathe again, and the whole world returns to focus around her without an immovable--or so she had thought--object blocking it out. She almost misses when he begins speaking again, leaning against the side of the ship, relaxed and aloof as though nothing had happened.

“It can be used as a weapon, this compulsion. I would recommend telling as few as possible about its existence.”

“Which translates to ‘make sure Gold never finds out’. Gotcha.” She says with a nod, and she only registers how his body stiffens out of the corner of her eye. Of course. He didn’t know.

“Yes, it would benefit both of us if the Crocodile never found out.” He says, and his voice is suspiciously void of emotion considering the depth of his hate for the man he calls the Crocodile.

She takes a deep breath and puts aside her worries about Hook's revenge for the moment: “I don’t think Gold will be much of a problem right now anyway.” At Killian’s arched, questioning eyebrow, she continues, “He’s got a lot of things on his plate. With his...son.”

He nods thoughtfully at her revelation, and his eyes are looking far away and beyond her. She takes the escape route that has been offered to her.

“Speaking of, I’ve got to run. Henry gets out of school soon.” She says, standing and stretching the stiffness out of her limbs.

She makes her exit silently, and he barely acknowledges that she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saying that this was going to be finished before we came back from hiatus might have been...an error in judgement on my part. But we're in the home stretch now. One more high stakes chapter to go and then we're done. Hope you enjoyed this one!


	5. Chapter 5

He paces to and fro in her kitchen like a caged animal. She had sent Henry upstairs to keep him out of the line of fire. She hadn’t even thought to tell the pirate about Gold. That the older man had lived was a good thing for her seeing as dead people? Not so high on her list of things that were good. But for Hook...

Well, it was a different story entirely, and the knowledge that his revenge was not complete seemed to have upended his entire world. How the pirate had managed to stay in town without crossing paths with Gold when Gold was practically everywhere in town was anyone’s guess. But managed it he had. So there they were, in the kitchen that seemed to shrink in size with every turn Killian made across its floor. If she were more sensitive like her mother she might have broken the news to him gently. Instead, she’d dropped the news like a bomb, and she was just waiting to see how it was going to explode. Any and all damage from this fallout was directly on her shoulders.

She reaches out a hand and grabs Killian’s arm as he passes by her. Jerking him to a stop, she gives reasoning with him her best shot. “Killian, stop.”

She scoffs at herself as she says it. She’s never been particularly good at comforting people, and Killian is volatile at best. She isn’t sure that she’ll be able to make him listen to her especially when she can’t find the right words to say.

But the sound of his name--his real name--falling from her lips seems to get through to him. A stillness settles over his body as he gazes back at her. “I cannot leave him alive, Emma. He is a demon that deserves to rot in hell. Do not forbid me this, I beg you.”

Her grip tightens on his arm because she’s afraid he might leave suddenly and never come back. Or worse, he’ll come back with blood on his hands, and she’ll be forced to take action. Though he would likely make a joke to the contrary, she doesn’t enjoy seeing him tied up any more than she enjoys having to be the one to do it time after time.

“I can’t let you kill him, Killian. You know I can’t.” This time she sees it happen, her magic. It touches him, seems to burn him if how he flinches is any indication. The look he gives her breaks her heart because she knows exactly what it means; she can only imagine what it feels like to have magic controlling you the way hers has been controlling him. She knows she’s made things worse as he pulls his arm away from her and brings it to his chest.

He takes a step backwards and away from her, but as soon as he has put that distance between them, he crumbles to the ground instantly, grunting in pain. She moves to his side, and his shoulders relax, a sign that the pain has stopped.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers.

“Sorry for what?” He hisses from between clenched teeth, and he looks her right in the eye. The intensity of his rage makes her stumble backwards, and now they’re both sitting on the kitchen floor.

“That I have to do this. I don’t want to, but I can’t let you destroy yourself. Not now. Not like this. You don’t need to kill him, to stoop to his level. You can be better than that.” She reaches for his hand, but he pulls it away before pulling himself up off the floor. It’s as far away from her as he can get without the compulsion sending pain burning through his body.

She looks at him helpless from where she is still crumpled on the floor, hopes that he can understand that she’s not doing this because she wants to hurt him. She makes one last attempt to sway him with words, hoping that he will see reason just for a little while.

“You’ve spent all these years trying to kill one man. Do you think she would want that to be your life? For everything to end in blood?” Emma stays on the floor and looks up at him, pleading.

“And if I cannot have my vengeance, what is left? Milah is gone, and I am alone.” His voice is soft, broken.

And to that, she doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He is beyond reasoning, she sees. He won’t listen to her now, and if there had ever been a chance that he would, she has certainly ruined it. Though she knows whatever she’s done magically will keep him incapacitated, she stills fears that he will try and make a break for it. The door isn’t that far away, and she doesn’t think Killian will let a little magical pain stop him for long, not when he has been chasing one goal for so long. She can think of only one thing to do, but her handcuffs are by the door with her gun holster. Suddenly, the door seems much farther away than she thought.

She takes a chance by taking a few small steps forward, and if she wasn’t so appalled by what her magic has done to him, she would thank it. He follows her as she makes her way out of the little kitchen and toward the door. Excruciating pain, terrible but convenient.

Once she’s standing by the door, she thinks fast knowing that he’ll try-and probably succeed--to over power her if she comes at him directly with the handcuffs. She needs a diversion. So she whirls around abruptly, grabs him by the edges of his leather coat, and yanks him to her. Their chests collide painfully, and she can’t say that it is the best kiss she’s ever had. The momentum knocks their teeth together, and he’s too surprised to respond at first. But she does her best with what she’s got, and she knows if she wasn’t so intent on restraining him, she would be enjoying herself.

She pulls back after the cuffs are secure, and he makes a noise that almost draws her back. But before she can bring her lips back to his, he discoverers what she’s done, the handcuffs tethering him.

“Swan. Unchain me. Now.” She imagines that it’s his best captain voice--and damn it, it does nothing for the flush in her cheeks--but she has no intention of obeying his commands.

“Not a chance. Like I said, you won’t be murdering anyone on my watch.” She steps back, belatedly realizing she’s too far away from him now.

He doesn’t crumple, however, and they share looks of confusion.

“I guess I...undid whatever it was that I did.” Emma says, taking another step back and thanking whatever lucky star she has left that she had thought to cuff him when she did.

“My, my, Miss Swan, I didn’t know you cared.” He’s smirking at her now, his current bondage forgotten for the moment.

“What the hell does that mean?” She demands, something in her stomach churning because she’s caught up now, remembering, and she can guess at what he’s about to say.

“All you’ve done between the kitchen and now is kiss me, love, and you know what they say.”

“True love breaks any curse.” She finishes for him in a whisper, her brow furrowing because that can’t possibly be right.

He opens his mouth and starts to say something but the moment is broken as Henry comes downstairs. Her son stops when he is far enough down the staircase to see them properly.

“Mom, why is Killian handcuffed to a pipe?” Trust Henry to get right to the point.

Emma takes a deep breath, and quickly dives into the best explanation she can muster on the fly before Killian has a chance to make the situation worse. “Well...you know how the Evil Queen doesn’t like Snow White?”

She hopes that the fairy tale analogy is still good, still the right way to go. One day, she hopes, she’ll get the hang of these mother-son talks, but for now, she’s just taking shots in the dark. Fortunately, Henry nods, and she keeps going because she’s already started so what the hell.

“Well, Captain Hook,” she gestures at Killian vaguely, “has...his own Snow White. Only he’s a crocodile. And the crocodile is Gold. You know what...this story has got to be in your book. Right, kid?” She asks desperately. Really, all that had sounded so much better in her head, and if Killian’s amused snort behind her is any indication, he agrees.

Something in her speech clicks with her son though because he’s nodding thoughtfully like it all makes perfect sense to him. “It’s like me and my mom, right? Sometimes she gets angry and wants to do bad things, and I’ve got to stop her because I love her. You’re doing the same thing with Killian! Keeping him from being the bad guy because you love him.”

Emma laughs, but this is her kid and she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that it isn't like that at all. The love part anyway. She chances a look over her shoulder at her pirate handcuffed and immobile. Well, she doesn’t hate him so there’s that.

Looking back at Henry, she shrugs. “Sure, kid. It’s like that.”

Henry grins at her. “Cool. Can we have pancakes for dinner?”

She’s gotten used to Henry’s speed of light pace so she doesn’t bat an eyelash at the sudden change of subject.

“Why not?” She replies. “We’ll eat in a little while. I’ve still got a few things to sort out down here.”

Her kid’s smart--something she’s realized she’s intensely proud of--and he takes the hint. Once he’s safely upstairs again, she turns to face Killian once more.

“I’m made of true love or something. I don’t know how it works exactly. It has nothing to do with you. Or feelings. Or whatever.” She explains.

He nods. “Of course it doesn’t, love.”

“And anyway, if the compulsion is really gone...” He cocks his head as if he’s listening for something and then nods at her. She takes it as confirmation. “Right, well, that means I am definitely not uncuffing you.”

He frowns, and really, it makes him look dangerous which isn’t something she really associates with him, infamous storybook villain or not.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, finally.

“What do you think?” She scoffs right back.

“I think we should strike a deal. I won’t run off on you and deliberately confront Rumpelstiltskin, but if an opportunity should present itself--” Emma hears the ‘which it will’ that goes unspoken. “--you let me take it.”

Now it’s her turn to frown, and she makes her glare as fierce as she can. “If an opportunity presents itself, I’ll just be there to stop you.”

“I suppose we are stuck with each other then, darling.”

She feels like she’s just been manipulated into something, but she isn’t sure what. Killian looks too innocent not to be guilty. Still she knows he’ll find a way out of his cuffs eventually, and she can’t watch him every moment of every day. He’d drive her nuts. It’s the inevitability that forces her hand, she decides, not trust.

She looks him in the eye as he holds up his cuffed hand, and she hesitates with the key.

“No murder.” She instructs.

“Unless an opportunity presents itself. Cross my heart.” He smiles at her, and she rolls her eyes.

Unlocking the cuff, she starts to say “Not if I can help it”, but he cuts her off. On the other end of a surprise kiss, she admires the fact that he avoids clacking their teeth together this time before catching up and applying herself to the task at hand. He really isn’t a bad kisser; and she will definitely berate herself for this later, but in the moment, she is kind of enjoying it so she doesn’t protest until he pulls away from her.

“We should do that more often, love.” He winks as he says it, and then he walks around her and toward the kitchen. “Now then, what exactly are ‘pancakes’?”

She calls Henry down, and she watches as Killian and Henry start a mock sword fight with forks. It’s domestic and weird. But, then again, what in her life isn’t weird? Her mother is Snow White. Her son’s adoptive mother tries to kill them every other week. Why not add Captain Hook in her kitchen with his incredible kissing skills and willingness to entertain her son to the list?

That nagging feeling that she’s been manipulated somehow is back, and when she catches Killian’s gaze a moment later, she can see triumph gleaming there.

And maybe later on down the line, he’ll be standing in front of Gold with a gun again, and she’ll be the only one standing between him and murder. She’s bested him before, and she’ll do it again. Until then, she’s not afraid to play his game, and she swoops in to catch him in a quick kiss as she steals his fork away from him.

“No sword fighting in the kitchen. You’ll break something.” She says, and she ruffles Henry’s hair before taking his fork away as well.

Later, once pancakes are done and Henry’s upstairs again, presumably doing homework, Killian leans in closer and whispers: “I told you it was just a matter of time.”

“I wouldn’t celebrate your victory just yet.” She replies, matching him smirk for smirk.

“After all this, you still don’t trust me, do you?” There’s bravado there and humor, but she remembers this line, knows that part of him is serious.

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself along the way.”

She leans in close, and their breaths mingle. She doesn’t touch her lips to his; instead, she whispers out “Killian” before abruptly pulling back.

He expels air in a loud rush and then laughs. “Emma, has anyone ever told you that you are quite the tease?”

“Anticipation makes the game more fun.” She throws back.

“Ah, the game. Of course. You know, I never lose.” He smirks at her and taps his hook on her thigh.

She rolls her eyes. “You do when I’m playing. I’ve bested you before,” She likes hearing her silent promise from before out loud and drops her playful tone so he knows that she’s talking about their deal now. “And I intend to best you every single time.”

He looks at her for a long moment before he replies, “I think you know that I like a challenge.”

And she’s not sure if he’s talking about her or his vow to get revenge, but she’s suddenly really glad that he’s no longer under her spell because at least she knows that this is real. He makes her heart race, and she knows half of it is worry about how dangerous he could become but the other half--the half that’s currently out weighing the other--is the desire to kiss him again. So she does, and that little spark of hope in her that stems from having her son back, having her parents back, from breaking the curse, from the fact that she lives in a freaking magical town for god’s sake...well, it makes her believe she can trust him despite everything.

And it’s not love. Certainly not true love, but it is what’s keeping him with her and away from death by crocodile so it’s enough. It has to be enough. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we're done. I hope you enjoyed it! And, perhaps, there might be a follow up to this fic sometime in the future if there's enough interest. 
> 
> In the interim, thank you to everyone who has been following this fic, all the people who have commented, and all the people who have left kudos. Your support means the world to me. And an extra special thank you goes out to my beta, Shannen, for being extra nit picky about things. Couldn't have done it without you.


End file.
